


we know the way by heart

by paranoidandroids



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bullying, Flashbacks of Childhood, Fluff, M/M, Post-High School, Slow Burn, Writer!Cyrus, the swings™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoidandroids/pseuds/paranoidandroids
Summary: In the midst of his self-imposed exile from Shadyside, Cyrus, a stubborn and ambitious young writer, finds himself living back in his mother's house after a family emergency. He spends his days wondering if returning was the right choice, a conflict only exacerbated by the presence of TJ, an old high school bully whose enigmatic personality has the potential to throw everything Cyrus knows about love and loss and living into orbit––if Cyrus lets him.





	1. prologue

_In the spring of my eighteenth year, I left home._

_They say that when you travel, you leave a piece of yourself wherever you go. A part of your heart in some city you’ll never see again, like Tony Bennett and all those other sentimental ballads say._

_I wasn’t doing that._

_When I left home, I was searching for something. I don’t know what, but whatever it was, it set me off on a long and lonely journey through America. I looked for that part of me in Los Angeles, in Sedona, in the middle of the Catskills, and yet I felt the same as I had when I’d left––eighteen and alone, alive and empty, with nothing to my name but an unfinished screenplay that ran circles around itself in pursuit of an ending it would never find._

_In retrospect, I wasn’t quite sure where to look for it._

* * *

The thrum of the engine filled Cyrus’s ears. He didn’t bother putting music on, having played the same CD three times in a row after his aux cord frayed and died on him. Instead, he invited the quiet into the car, save for the clattering sound of road beneath wheel, and with that he finally allowed himself to think.

The highway stretched out endlessly before him, empty plains flanking the road on both sides and extending for miles and miles. This span of Wyoming wasn’t so remarkable at eye level, but the real beauty lay high above––dark gray clouds twisting through the pale November sky, wild and rollicking with the ever-present threat of bursting, heavy droplets falling angrily from the sky when they finally did. Cyrus flicked the knob of his windshield wipers as the rain pelted his car, steadying his grip on the steering wheel as the highway road welcomed the first rain in weeks. 

Six months had passed since he left his hometown of Shadyside. He tried to relive the day he left, with nothing but a carry-on-sized luggage and a backpack holding his laptop and a notebook packed into the trunk of his car, his mother the most affected of them all as he drove off. His father comforted her, even though they no longer loved each other that way, one hand around her shoulder and the other clasped between her two palms. He could remember nothing about their last exchange except for a mustard stain on the front of his father’s shirt.

Andi and Buffy, his two closest friends, were still visible in his rearview mirror as he rounded the corner, their gazes somber but understanding. They were the most receptive to his decision to leave, trying to be as unselfish as they could in not convincing him to stay. _You hate it here,_ he recalled Buffy saying. _Why spend your gap year here when you could be, well, everywhere else?_

Cyrus chuckled fondly, looking back on that well-intentioned statement. He’d traveled far across the country, but he didn’t feel like he was anywhere.

And then, as suddenly as he’d left, Shadyside called him back.

It was a simple non-negotiable his parents had worked out. _Come home for Thanksgiving for a family reunion, then afterwards, you can leave as soon as you please._ They weren’t asking much. He agreed, albeit a bit begrudgingly; it felt harmless enough. What difference would one visit home make?

* * *

_That winter, I came back._

_I learned something then, in the winter of my eighteenth year, that upended my entire life. It made me feel silly, almost, like when a child misplaces a toy and gets lightly reprimanded when they find that it was right in front of them all along. What I’m trying to say is––it’s always so obvious in the end. The things you’re looking for, you could spend days trying to find. But they’re always right where you first thought you left them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up folks, this one's gonna be a doozy. updates every weekend.
> 
> posted this on tumblr last week, now it has a home here!  
kudos & comments appreciated! remark on the vagueness of this chapter! keysmash! tell me how your day's going!
> 
> commiserate with me on tumblr i am 100% an approachable and unintimidating tiny lizard @[kippenmittens](http://kippenmittens.tumblr.com/)


	2. chapter 1

Cyrus arrived at his father’s house with nowhere to park. He surveyed the neighborhood, familiar and unchanged from when he last saw it six months ago––save for the swaths of autumn leaves papering the streets. His last view of his childhood street was cocooned in the verdant shade of late May; now, spindly, naked tree branches glowered above. Even still, it was abnormally warm for Thanksgiving morning––a mid-sixties anomaly that only hit Shadyside every few decades-–and residents littered their front yards, peering curiously at Cyrus's familiar car as he circled the block several times. After twenty minutes of burning gas, he was able to settle on a spot that was two streets away and suspiciously close to a fire hydrant.

On the walk over, he mentally prepared himself for the chastising he would receive for being late. If there was anything he’d learned about his extended Goodman family over the years, it was that they were punctual. He’d also learned that there were a _lot_ of them. They really ran the gamut, the Goodmans. Gossiping aunties, conservative uncles, midlife crises across the board. Cousins old enough to be his parents and young enough to be his kids. Grandparents who’d let him dote, and then others who insisted they do everything themselves. Teachers, entrepreneurs, lawyers, rabbis, doctors, _foot_ doctors––the Goodmans were everywhere and everything. Cyrus had to fit in somewhere. One would _think._

“You’re late,” he was greeted as he peeked his head through the open front door.

“Happy to see you too, Mom,” he replied sarcastically, moving in to hug her. He silently thanked her for being the only person in the foyer who would have to see him arriving ten minutes past the invitation time.

“Happy Thanksgiving, by the way.”

“Right. Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

Leslie Goodman took a step back and stared at her son with misty eyes and a wistful smile. Ever the sensitive one, Cyrus’s mother. Maybe that was where he got it.

“My baby boy,” she cooed, maintaining her motherly vice grip on his arms. She assessed him up and down. “Did you grow again?”

“Doubt it,” Cyrus replied meekly. “I’m already eighteen.” He towered over her, courtesy of his spontaneous growth spurt before senior year, but not any more than he had before he left.

She smiled again, with her whole face, and Cyrus feared she might cry. Instead, she pulled him back into a hug; instinctively, he hugged her tighter. Nearly six months away from Shadyside, of course he missed his mother the most.

“Cyrus!” a voice called from the back of the house, and after a moment Norman emerged from the kitchen. “Welcome back, kiddo.”

“Hi, Dad.” Cyrus let go of his mother, walking over to greet his father. Norman was wearing a T-shirt decorated with his side of the family tree, white lines connecting the heads of Cyrus’s grandparents to his father’s, Leslie’s, and his own. A dashed line connected on the other side of Norman’s head to his new wife, Sharon. Cyrus appraised the shirt with a grimace. “Is there one for me?”

“You bet,” Norman grinned, producing another shirt from under his arm on cue. An outdated photo of thirteen-year old Cyrus occupied most of the front, his parents’ and step-parents’ combined four heads floating above it.

“Gee, thanks,” Cyrus said flatly. “Guess I’ll change.”

“Did you just get in? Have you said hi to anyone yet?”

Cyrus shook his head. “Nope, just Mom.”

“Go get changed and meet us in the backyard,” Leslie smiled. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Cyrus flashed a smile––then dropped it as soon as Leslie and Norman turned around. He figured navigating this reunion would’ve already been hard _without_ having to wear his pre-puberty face on his torso.

* * *

Out in the backyard, freshly donning his new T-shirt, Cyrus tried his best to mingle with his extended family. He found himself unsure of which people he was actually related to. Determined to grab a bottle of water and hide under a tree until it was over, he made a beeline for the drinks table, only to be stopped by a short and stocky elderly woman.

“Cyrus, is that you?”

Cyrus’s stomach dropped. “Hi, Aunt Ruthie,” he said timidly. Aunt Ruthie had no filter, especially when it came to Cyrus. He was generally a patient person, but whenever he conversed with her he had to do all he could to not knock her off her walker.

“My, how you’ve grown!”

“That’s what they keep telling me.”

“So,” she said abruptly, her tone surreptitious. Cyrus braced himself. “Do you have a girlfriend yet?”

“No, Aunt Ruthie,” Cyrus replied politely. “I don’t.”

“Well, there are a few girls at the synagogue who have been asking me about you.”

“Is that so?”

“They’re your age. Good college girls. In fact, one of them lives right here in Shadyside.”

_Good college girls. Ha. _Cyrus flashed a perfunctory smile. “Oh, _gosh,_ you know. I’d like that, but I won’t be in town long,” he replied tersely. “Sorry.”

He elbowed past an uncle he vaguely recognized before giving her a chance to respond.

Exasperated already, Cyrus drew out a long sigh. He pulled out his phone and began composing a text.

_Andi, I’m already dying,_ it read.

With a buzz came her response. _Bummer, now I owe Jonah. My money was on an hour. Need a place to crash this week?_

_Guh. Do I ever._

As he pressed “Send” he was tapped on the shoulder by another vaguely familiar relative whose name he didn’t remember. He shut off his phone quickly and jammed it in his pocket.

“Cyrus! You’re so big now!” they exclaimed.

“Yeah, happens!” he said through a gritted smile.

“I haven’t seen you since you were” ––they demonstrated the size of a loaf of bread with their hands––“this big. Do you remember me?”

“Of course!” he lied. Reunions, he was quickly gathering, were not his thing.

“So where do you go to college now? Did you know your parents started your college fund the day your mom found out she was pregnant with you?”

Cyrus was composing his next text to Andi in his head. _Change of plans, I need to crash at your place Right. Now._ “Oh, uh, I actually––I’m taking a gap year instead, this year.”

“Oh, a gap year!” they replied, the sort of middle of the road reply that Cyrus was used to hearing––neither disappointed nor particularly proud. It was a tamer response than Cyrus was expecting from anyone at this party.

But they continued on, their tone more deprecating: “Well, that’s alright. As long as you know what you want to do. They saved up a lot of money for that, you know.”

“Yep,” Cyrus said curtly, switching on his fake smile again. _“I know.”_

Cyrus continued walking through the backyard, desperately wanting to hide in his room upstairs, provided his father didn’t turn it into another study. But a voice called out for him––he was getting tired of hearing his own name. He shot around, immediately relieved to see his stepfather, Todd, waving to him from atop a stepladder while he adjusted a banner.

“Hi Todd,” Cyrus said with a sigh of relief. “Thank god it’s just you.”

“Are you just as overwhelmed as I am? I barely recognize half of these people.”

“Honestly? Neither do I.” Cyrus stared concernedly at the stepladder on which Todd was precariously balanced. “Do you need help? I can do that for you.”

Todd waved him off. “I have it under control.”

Cyrus smiled and shrugged. “Well, let me know if that changes. I’m going inside.”

Cyrus was relieved to find that his childhood bedroom was still partially intact. His thought from earlier was half-right: Norman had discarded Cyrus’s old empty dresser to add a desk and moved a bookcase against another wall to make room for a new one, but everything else––Cyrus’s bed with the same sheets, posters on the wall––remained the same. He’d spent most of his childhood here, the proximity to his elementary and junior high schools closer than his mother’s place.

He’d enjoyed growing up here, a respite from the terrors of cruel schoolchildren. It hadn’t been enough to keep him in Shadyside, but it was something.

When he emerged from his room, it sounded like everyone had come into the house. He looked over the banister and saw his mother making her way for the front door.

“Todd hurt his ankle,” she called out to him, awash with worry. “He fell off that damn stepladder.”

Cyrus scanned the opposite side of the house and saw Todd hopping on one foot while Norman and Sharon helped him along. “I should’ve listened to you,” he said to Cyrus with a chuckle. Ever the life coach, Todd’s attitude was surprisingly positive.

In spite of his concern, Cyrus couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the irony. His mother caught him and glared.

“Get down here, Cyrus. We’re going to the hospital.”

* * *

“I’m just going to press lightly,” the doctor said, her arm on Todd’s leg while Leslie and Cyrus looked on. Even on Thanksgiving, the emergency room was in the midst of its afternoon rush, and except for Todd in a wheelchair they all stood cramped together in front of the triage booth. “Let me know if it hurts.”

“Todd, you’re such an idiot.” Leslie crossed her arms, her brows knit with concern.

“Relax, honey––ow! It’s probably just a fracture. I’ll be fine.” Todd laid a comforting hand atop hers before the technician wheeled him away.

“Should we go with him?” Cyrus asked.

Leslie shook her head. “He doesn’t want us to. He gets embarrassed enough at the doctor as it is.”

“Maybe he should get a coach for that,” Cyrus joked. Leslie shot him a glare. “I’m kidding. Sorry.”

They found an open corner of the waiting room, two cramped but cushioned seats next to the vending machine. Cyrus bought two packets of corn nuts and handed one to his mother.

“We don’t want to keep you long, honey, so if you need to go––“

“Mom. It’s okay.” Cyrus put a hand on her shoulder, if only to sell the effect. It was true he wanted to get out of town, but not if it meant his mother had to stress out alone.

“It’s probably just a fracture,” she said blankly, staring straight ahead. Probably just trying to calm herself down. “Just… it’s harder, when you’re older.”

Cyrus nodded, turning over the unopened bag in his hand wordlessly. He hated when she talked about aging.

“Anyway,” she perked up, as if sensing his discomfort. “How was Colorado?”

Cyrus exhaled, thankful for the change of topic. “Loved it. I stayed with a family in Louisville, near Boulder. It started to snow just before I left.”

“Get a lot of writing done?”

“I did. The place was remote enough for me to focus.”

“‘Remote enough’? At this rate I should just build you an igloo in the middle of Antarctica,” she laughed.

_“Hey,”_ Cyrus said, laughing along. “Isolation can be good. For writing.”

“Yeah.” Her expression softened. “I’m happy for you, Cyrus. You know, sometimes I feel guilty for back then. For wishing you stayed in Shadyside.”

Cyrus pursed his lips. It was no secret that he’d hated his life here. Everyone knew him as the one who’d jump the fastest at the soonest opportunity to leave. But his mother, sitting next to him now and still pure and kind and doing her best, as she always was––well, how did she _not_ know that? She was the most vocal opponent of his decision to leave, even with his father and step-parents on board. Would she feel the same if she knew all of his reasons why?

She smiled at him, the kind of smile mothers smiled, innocuous with all her love for him behind it, and Cyrus wondered how she imagined he went through life––how he _looked_ to her, without the added baggage his previous teenage years had tacked on. Yet everyone who’d known him at school knew he was bullied, knew he was gay. Knew he wanted out at the first chance that came.

_It always works out that way,_ he reasoned. _The ones who are expected to be the most perceptive are the ones who are the last to know._

“I’m happy for me too, Mom,” he replied, smiling back.

* * *

Todd came back with a diagnosis of an ankle fracture and a prescription for six weeks in an ugly boot. Cyrus helped him into the back seat of the car, taking care not to bump his leg against the chassis while Leslie rummaged frantically through her purse outside.

“We need to stop at Rite Aid to get him crutches,” she said distractedly. “Where the _hell_ are my glasses?”

Cyrus shut the car door and reached for Leslie’s arm in an attempt to relax her. “Mom, I’ll drive. You can sit with Todd in the back.”

Leslie exhaled sharply. “Okay. Okay. Are you okay driving?”

“I just drove through half the country,” Cyrus reassured her. “I think I can handle the two miles.”

“Oh, Cy. I’m so glad you came home.” Her face threatened to crumple, and Cyrus knew it wasn’t just because he'd offered to drive.

They picked up Todd’s crutches and drove back to the house. After twenty minutes of Todd stubbornly insisting he sleep upstairs in their room, Leslie was finally able to convince him to take the guest bedroom on the first floor, and the two talked quietly into the night. Cyrus waited sleepily on the living room sofa, his legs dangling over the armrest as he scrolled through his phone.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to them, but he was looking through old albums from his senior year. Photos of Andi and Buffy he’d taken, selfies of the trio that their good friend Jonah had somehow made his way into, snapshots of his village of parents with him at graduation. Somehow, he’d never gotten around to erasing them, as much as he’d tried to scrub Shadyside out of his life. He smiled softly at the memories, laughing despite himself at a few. This town had left him hurt in many ways, but in just as many had shaped him for the better. The latter point he was still stubborn to accept.

He dimmed his screen when Leslie walked into the room, already smiling at him. “What are you laughing at?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, putting his phone in his pocket. “Just something I remembered.”

He sat up on the sofa and Leslie came and sat next to him. He scooted closer to her, watching as she stared off quietly, sensing the drumming of her heartbeat start to calm.

“How’s Todd doing?” he asked quietly.

“He’s fine,” she sighed. “Just stubborn. You know how he is, he needs to be independent. Do things himself.”

“That’s understandable.”

She casted a knowing glance at Cyrus. “I guess that’s something you two have in common.”

Cyrus smiled, albeit with a pang of guilt. It was true, and on top of all the other reasons, he supposed it was a large part of why he had left.

He looked at his mother again, back in her quiet world, and he thought of two things––Todd and his desire to retain his independence, Leslie and her persistent, unwavering loyalty. It applied to Cyrus all the same.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Leslie asked, breaking the silence this time.

It was a question that Cyrus had known the answer to before he’d even arrived back in Shadyside. He’d already had a mental countdown going in his head.

But now, he wasn’t so sure.

He took a deep breath, hoping whatever came out would be the right answer.

“I’m staying here,” he replied. Hearing the words come out of his mouth gave the decision a finality that he felt surprisingly alright with.

Leslie’s face lit up in surprise. “Staying here? How long?”

“I don’t know,” Cyrus shrugged, offering his most honest answer. “How long can I?”

* * *

Lying in bed that night in the bedroom his mother had left untouched since the day he left home, Cyrus pulled out his phone and texted Andi.

_Change of plans again,_ he typed. _Don’t wait up. I’m staying in Shadyside._

The response came almost immediately. _No way! Yes!!! For how long??_

Cyrus smiled at his phone.

_For now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of exposition i know! look out for more cyrus and leslie growth, i know nothing about parenting but i'm trying my best  
meanwhile you can find me in my cave @[kippenmittens](http://kippenmittens.tumblr.com/)


	3. chapter 2

Miraculously enough, Shadyside was just as boring as Cyrus had remembered it.

It had been one week since he first returned and revealed to his mother that he’d decided to stay. For how long, he still didn’t know. But he was starting to feel like a week was long enough.

Most days had so far involved helping Todd walk to the bathroom and writing and eating takeout in his room while Leslie was at work. He was happy for the extra time to write, sure, but the arrangement was an otherwise stark contrast from the way he’d lived for the past six months, driving from town to city, for stretches of states sometimes. He’d used the car he inherited when he got his license, the miles tacking on as he drove out to California and up the Pacific Coast, across the Rockies and out to the Appalachians. Waking up to a different view every week was not unusual.

So he might have been feeling a little constrained.

His mother had taken the liberty of taking the day off to stay home with Todd. Never had Cyrus been so grateful for the company.

“Cyrus, do you have time to grab some things for me from the grocery store?” she asked. “You can take my car.”

“God, do I ever,” Cyrus said, rolling his eyes. Leslie shot him a glare. “I mean––yes, Mother. Sorry.”

“Don’t act like you’re bored already when you just got back last week,” she said sternly. She held the grocery list up with her free hand.

Cyrus grabbed the list wordlessly and hurried to the garage, muttering another apology for good measure.

* * *

At 10 a.m., the store was practically dead, but Cyrus was still glad to be out of the house. Shadyside was already such a sleepy town––it being early morning in the middle of the week didn’t help. If anything, he found consolation in there being a smaller chance of getting recognized by someone he knew.

He scanned through Leslie’s impeccably detailed list––he wasn’t too sure there was a difference in taste between long versus wide sticks of butter––and wandered his way through the store with an absurd muscle memory that he subconsciously noted he didn’t have any real need for anymore. Nevertheless, there was a therapeutic element to the activity of finding the item that fitted Leslie’s exact description, and Cyrus felt the most relaxed he had in weeks. He hummed to the melody of whatever familiar 80s classic rock tune was playing overhead, wheeling the cart lazily along.

The last item on the list was the pack of long sticks of butter––then he could go home. He swerved his cart deftly into the dairy aisle, ready to pick up the one item and leave. Cyrus stopped when he noticed another person there, a taller, blonde man with his back to him.

Cyrus stiffened. It was easy to recognize a middle school bully from the fight-or-flight instinct they ignited before he even saw their faces. TJ Kippen was tame as far as bullies had gone, at least, but who was Cyrus kidding? That wasn’t saying much. The only redeeming quality TJ had was that he’d learned to leave Cyrus alone by high school, and the two had only talked a couple of times senior year for an English group project. But he’d still been a jock and hung around jocks who continued to relentlessly terrorize scrawny quiet kids. Cyrus suspected he hadn’t changed all that much.

TJ turned around and Cyrus immediately ducked into the next aisle. If it weren’t for his mother’s list, he would have paid and left immediately, but instead was left to complete his grocery shopping in heightened paranoia.

He was ten steps from the cashier when a voice called out to him.

“Cyrus Goodman?”

It was unmistakably TJ. Cyrus turned hesitantly, just to confirm, and TJ was still craning his neck over the cheese display to make eye contact with him. His body flooded with anxiety as forgotten memories and repressed anger came rushing back to him. Why the hell did TJ even want to talk to him? He straightened up, trying to sound calm.

“Hi, TJ.”

As if to make this fever dream worse, TJ started walking over. “Wow, it really is you. I haven’t seen you since––“

“Since graduation,” Cyrus finished.

“Yeah,” TJ said. “Yeah. That feels like forever ago.”

“Six months is a long time.”

“Six months _is_ a long time,” TJ parroted. There was an awkward silence until he spoke up again. “I didn’t know you’d be coming back to Shadyside.”

“Yeah, well,” Cyrus replied icily. “I didn’t either.”

TJ shifted. “How long are you in town for?” he asked hesitantly.

Cyrus paused, not sure why he was even thinking of a reply. “I’ll be here for the next few months. Some stuff came up, so I’m living at home.”

“I see.”

“Yep.”

“There’s not many of us left here, it feels like.”

“’Us’?”

“As in our class. High school class.”

“Ah.” Cyrus pursed his lips.

“Well,” TJ said with a small, polite smile, starting to leave. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Cyrus forced a smile, the kind that stopped just beneath the eyes, holding it until TJ was just out of view.

* * *

Cyrus dumped the grocery bags carelessly on the counter when he got home. He was pissed off, rightfully so after one of his old middle school tormentors had the gall to be nice to him as if they’d ever had anything resembling a friendship. _“See you around”_ ––as though Cyrus wanted anything to do with him aside from an apology. But he couldn’t help but also wonder, why was TJ suddenly so nice? Should he have been nice back?

In his frustration, he slammed the car keys down on their tray in the foyer before heading for the stairs. His mother noticed him before he could retreat up to his bedroom.

“Everything alright?” she asked, eyes darting between him and the keys with concern.

He glanced at her distractedly. “Sure. Yeah. Whatever.” He sighed with frustration. “It will be.”

“Cyrus, if you want to talk about it––“

She approached him, gingerly placing a hand on his arm. Cyrus didn’t budge. Where would he start? He didn’t want to open this can of worms, not with her, at least not right now. Not when he’d just gotten back and was still trying to mold some sense of normalcy out of his daily life.

“I’ve just been stressed about college apps,” he lied. “Waiting to hear back and all.”

To be fair, it wasn’t a total lie. Maybe she bought it, maybe she didn’t––but all the same she looked at him with tender affirmation and gave his arm a squeeze. “Honey, you’ll be fine. Their decisions are things you can’t control. Just focus on the things you can.”

And then she let go of his arm and walked away. Somehow, she always said the right thing without knowing why.

* * *

After dinner that night, the encounter at the grocery store and the exchange with Leslie were still weighing on Cyrus’s mind. When Todd left to watch his evening TV, Cyrus lingered behind in the kitchen, standing by Leslie as she finished the dishes.

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear?” She dried her hands on a towel and looked expectantly at Cyrus.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier.” He chose his words carefully. He wasn’t used to having serious talks with his mother, and already he was nervous. How would she react? What would she say? But maybe none of that mattered. He just wanted to start being honest with her, and maybe that was the only weight he needed to pull.

He continued on. “When I said I was mad about college stuff… well, I lied. I mean––I’m worried about that stuff too, but––that wasn’t why I was mad. While I was at the store earlier… I ran into someone who used to bully me.”

Leslie’s eyes widened. “Bullied? They didn’t do anything, did they––“

“No, no!” Cyrus shook his head. “He didn’t do anything. In fact, he was actually… really nice to me. And for some reason that angered me. I wasn’t exactly nice to him back, which I feel is fine, right? Like, I don’t need to be nice to him after what he did to me. And yet… now, I feel guilty. For not being nice.” He exhaled, hard, grateful for the weight off his shoulders, and glanced at Leslie, hoping to gauge her reaction.

“Cyrus,” she said, a quiet pain in her voice. “I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. I never said anything. You couldn’t have known.”

“But I should have.” She paused, collecting herself. “And how do you feel now, since you’ve calmed down?”

Cyrus shrugged. “Conflicted, I guess.”

“It’s okay to feel that way.”

“It is?”

“Cyrus, he treated you cruelly. You have every right to be angry. But at the same time, it’s okay that you regret being rude to him. It would also be okay if you didn’t.”

Cyrus stared at the ground, puzzled.

“There’s no right or wrong way to _feel,_ Cyrus. Emotions are what makes us human.” She tapped him on the shoulder so he would meet her gaze. “How you feel about something that happens to you––it’s not always something you can control. What matters is what you do about it… Our emotions don’t make us bad people. They don’t determine our character. Our _actions_ do.”

Cyrus breathed a sigh of relief. Of course he could tell his mother this. He wondered why he’d thought he couldn’t.

“Do you want to talk about it more?” she asked. “Only if you want to tell me.”

“I will,” he replied with an affirming smile. “Eventually.”

That seemed to be enough for her; Cyrus knew it was enough for him. He’d never imagined the day would come that he would be able to open up to his mother, but slowly he was prying himself out of his shell. And it didn’t feel so bad.

* * *

Cyrus worked late into the night, tabling any headway on his script to flesh out new short film ideas. His mind tended to run off on elaborate tangents when creativity struck properly; sometimes all it took was a phrase heard in passing or a line in a song to catalyze the process. He sat at his desk, typing nearly nonstop, the assortment of half-baked ideas a scattered mess on his desktop that he was constantly saving for later. When he finally checked the clock, it was well past two in the morning.

_Better late than never,_ he reasoned, shutting the laptop off.

As he laid in bed, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling mindlessly through social media. A sudden thought nagged at him.

He opened Facebook, and after a beat of hesitation, typed TJ Kippen’s name in the search bar.

The gray “Add Friend” button stuck out conspicuously in the middle of TJ’s page. Above it was a photo of TJ, back to the camera and standing before a landscape that Cyrus recognized, some place off the coast of Washington.

Cyrus frowned, suddenly hyper-aware of what he was doing. TJ had extended him an olive branch, and after ruminating on it he was about to accept it via social media. People used to be able to run into old classmates in the grocery store, then move towns and never see them again. Maybe it would’ve been easier for Cyrus to do just that.

But that wasn’t what he wanted to do.

His finger hovered carefully. _Adding him might be too forward,_ Cyrus thought. _But maybe a message would be fine._

Nervously, Cyrus opened the messenger page and began typing. _“Hi TJ, it’s Cyrus from Grant. I wanted to apologize about earlier…”_

He grimaced, scrapping the entire text.

_“Yo, it’s Cyrus from high school. I was wondering why you said hi to me––_”

_“Hi, it’s Cyrus, sorry for being an ass––_”

_“Hey, about earlier––_”

Cyrus deleted the text again, each revision sounding worse than the last. Dissatisfied, he shut his phone off and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always catch me wreaking havoc at @[kippenmittens](https://kippenmittens.tumblr.com/)


	4. chapter 3

The first weeks in Shadyside ended and in the middle of December came Buffy, home for Christmas break from college in DC. She was Cyrus’s first source of company since returning, apart from Andi coming home for weekends and Jonah on the random stretches of days he wasn’t playing gigs in the city. Buffy’s presence in Shadyside was a breath of relief for Cyrus, a distraction from the bad memories the town otherwise brought, and on her first day home, after spending the morning with her mom, she went straight to Cyrus’s house.

She greeted Cyrus with a hug that might have broken several of his ribs. “Where are Todd and Leslie?” she asked excitedly.

“Mom’s at work, Todd’s in his room reading.”

“How’s his leg?” Buffy asked, wincing.

Cyrus shrugged. “Healing, I think. He’s really enjoying us doting on him.” He lowered his voice. “So _please_ get me out of the house.”

After saying a quick hello to Todd, Buffy dragged Cyrus out to The Spoon. It was almost a no-brainer, considering how much they’d frequented the old diner since middle school. Cyrus mentally tallied how much money he’d probably spent over the years there. A good portion of his body must have been composed of baby taters and other assorted fried foods.

They shrugged out of their coats and sat in a booth right by the entrance, their usual arrangement. Cyrus smiled at the waitstaff who greeted them and took their orders, noticing they were all new, unfamiliar faces.

“I haven’t been here since high school,” Buffy said. Cyrus gaped at the remark.

“But you had all of summer vacation!”

Buffy shrugged. “I guess we did come here after you left, just once,” she admitted. “But it didn’t feel right without you.”

Cyrus worried at his bottom lip, remembering their last time at The Spoon, the morning of graduation day. It had felt like any other time they’d gone, squeezing into a tiny booth and ordering too much food. It hadn’t occurred to him, at least not so significantly at the time, that that would be the last time they’d be together for a long time.

“But anyway,” Buffy said abruptly, resting her palms on the table. “How have you been? How’s traveling?”

“Traveling’s been good. It’s a different pace for me, I think. It’s exciting.” He paused. “Shadyside, though, not so much.”

“As to be expected,” Buffy said in agreement.

“And yourself? How’s basketball? How’s _college?!”_

“Not so bad,” she said, shrugging. “There’s a lot of freedom about it. Almost _too_ much. Like, you basically decide your own schedule, so I picked a bunch of 8 a.m. classes. I figured, hey, I’ve started school at eight my entire life, I should be used to it, right?” Her face deadpanned. “Wrong. All of my friends started class at like, ten o’clock, and I was the only one who didn’t get to sleep in.”

Cyrus laughed. “But that’s over now, right? Don’t tell me you’re doing that again.”

“No way. My days start at noon next semester, as things should be.”

“Ah, now all is right with the world.”

They talked more over baby taters and milkshakes, about Buffy’s basketball team and unpredictable DC weather, about Cyrus’s script and getting lost driving in rural Ohio. Eventually the conversation circled back to Shadyside, to the time Cyrus dared Buffy to join the school musical and one instance where they unintentionally snuck into one of Andi’s art exhibits at SAVA.

“Hey,” Cyrus said suddenly, in a low tone. “I just remembered. I have to tell you something.”

Buffy perked up with slight alarm. “It’s not bad, is it?”

“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. But…” He looked around, just to be sure nobody they knew was near them. “I saw TJ at the grocery store last week.”

“TJ Kippen?” Buffy asked, almost in disbelief. Cyrus nodded. “Well––and? Did he talk to you?”

Cyrus bit his lip. “Yeah. He did. And he was… how do I put this… he was actually nice. He made _small talk_ with me.”

“Did you say anything to him?”

“No,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “Not really. I was kind of an ass to him, actually. Can you believe I feel kind of shitty about it? I almost messaged him on Facebook to apologize.”

“Wow.” Buffy was in genuine disbelief. “For you to actually want to talk to one of _them?_ That’s unheard of.”

“I don’t know, I––” Cyrus paused as the door to the diner opened, jingling the loud bell above them–– “I just didn’t expect him to act like that. It’s almost like it wasn’t him, you know?”

Buffy shrugged. “People can change. I honestly wouldn’t have expected it from him, but he _has_ been through a lot––”

“Buffy,” Cyrus interrupted, cutting her off. “Oh my god.” He bristled, noticing the people who’d just walked in sitting at a table on the opposite end of the diner. TJ sat on one side, his face in Cyrus’s view; a girl sat across from him with her back to them. “He’s right there.”

Buffy turned around while Cyrus ducked behind his glass on the table.

“I think he’s with someone,” he whispered.

“That’s Amber,” Buffy said, turning back to face him.

“Andi’s girlfriend?” Cyrus balked. Amber was in the class above theirs and had started dating Andi during their junior year. She had worked at The Spoon and funded the remainder of baby taters that Cyrus had thus far ingested but not paid for himself. At first, she was intimidating, but Cyrus grew to like her a lot. “But it’s Amber. Why would she be with him?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Maybe because they’re related?” She mimicked his face mockingly when he shot her a disgusted look. “God, you really _haven’t_ been back.”

“Since when?!”

“Since when what? Since when have they been siblings?” Cyrus’s mouth dropped in shock again at the last word. “Okay, I guess in fairness, no one knew until after graduation. I can forgive this.”

They both glanced over as Amber got up from the table and greeted an old coworker at the kitchen counter. Buffy kicked Cyrus’s foot under the table.

“Are you going to talk to him?”

Cyrus hunched down and groaned into his sweater sleeve. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to,” Buffy assured him. “Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable doing.”

Cyrus took a deep breath. “You know what? It’s going to bother me forever if I don’t.”

He stood up from the table, bracing himself. TJ sat alone at his and Amber’s booth, buried mindlessly into his phone. Cyrus felt his hands go clammy. What was he even going to say?

_Whatever. Some things just need to be played by ear._

He walked up to TJ’s table, knocking softly on the plastic surface. TJ’s eyes darted up, surprised and stripped of all their emotionless intimidation. 

“Cyrus?”

Cyrus managed a tiny smile. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah,” TJ replied, still dazed. “Yeah, of course.”

TJ put his phone away while Cyrus scooted into the booth. He was really doing this. Seven years now he’d hated TJ, and suddenly he was sitting across from him in the only sacred space he had left in Shadyside.

“So,” he started, hoping his nerves weren’t showing.

“So…” TJ repeated. He stared at Cyrus, looking clueless.

Maybe they were showing a bit.

Cyrus cleared his throat. “Well, I uh––I wanted to apologize for last week, at the grocery store. I kinda blew you off. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” TJ replied. “I don’t blame you.”

Cyrus furrowed his brow, but TJ didn’t elaborate further. He felt somewhat thankful for that––the conversation was agonizingly awkward enough. He was never one for confrontation, and TJ wasn’t exactly the first person he wanted to have that experience with. TJ opened his mouth to continue, but Cyrus cut him off––

“What are you doing on Friday?”

TJ blinked. “Huh?”

“This Friday. Are you free?”

“I should be, yeah––“

“Well, maybe we could…” Cyrus waved a hand, searching for his words.

TJ tried to fill in. “What? Hang out?”

“Yeah.”

TJ paused. “You and me?”

“Yeah––I mean, if you want. You don’t _have_ to, but––but I figured, you’re in Shadyside, I’m in Shadyside––I’m in Shadyside for a _while_, actually––so it makes sense. Not for us to hang out, I mean, just for me to ask you.” Cyrus licked his lips and shrugged. “But only if you _want.”_

TJ laughed, his mouth hanging open afterward in a bewildered smile that crept up to his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, his expression unchanging. “I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Cyrus said, returning the smile as he slid out of the booth. “Cool. Oh––I should probably––we should––”

“Exchange numbers?”

Cyrus mentally chastised himself as he reached for TJ’s outstretched phone and dialed his number in. ‘_Play it by ear,’_ he thought to himself sardonically, mocking his earlier thoughts. _Great plan, Goodman._

“So?” Buffy asked expectantly as Cyrus sat back in their booth. “Hold on. Are you blushing?”

“If I am, I shouldn’t be.” He made sure TJ wasn’t looking over before burying his face in his hands.

“It can’t have been that bad.”

“Buffy, I asked him to hang out with me on Friday.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide with pure shock. “You? Really?” She looked back at TJ, who was fully immersed in conversation with Amber now, a playful and innocent glint in his eyes. “Might I ask _why?”_

Cyrus peeked at Buffy through his fingers, sitting up immediately when he noticed her sly expression. “What are you getting at?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

She simply shrugged, reaching for another baby tater. “Nothing.”

* * *

Admittedly, Cyrus did feel a weight off of his shoulders after talking to TJ. He was hesitant, still, about the fact that TJ seemed nothing like the person he was back when they were in school together. The TJ he knew was unapproachable, brutally honest, stoic with an icy gaze––nothing like the person he encountered at The Spoon today, disarming and beguiling, if not a bit reticent. He couldn’t help but wonder how someone like that could have such a drastic change in personality, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted. A buzz went off at his desk, and he saw his phone alight with a text from an unknown number.

_Hi, it’s TJ :)_

Cyrus chuckled softly at his phone. _Hi there,_ he messaged back. He debated sending another text, something about The Spoon, maybe an apology for being so painfully awkward––but was interrupted by another _ping!_ from his phone.

_It was nice seeing you again today_

Cyrus blinked at the screen. If he wasn’t sure he was confused about this TJ before, he sure as hell was now.

_You too,_ he sent back, even if it was half a lie; at least to him, their first meeting at the grocery store had been anything but ideal. _Still up for Friday?_

_I’m up if you’re up,_ came the response.

_Cool, see you Friday then!_

_Great :) gnight!_

Cyrus smiled, despite himself. He had a lot of questions about TJ, about what already existed between them before their encounter in the grocery store––but right now, maybe it was enough for them to become friends. Maybe the questions could wait. He made sure to save TJ’s number in his phone before typing a reply.

_Good night, TJ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short update this time! next week's chapter might be EXTREMELY LONG oops
> 
> also introducing a few headcanons here:  
\- jonah is a musician  
\- andi is an artist (not so much mentioned as implied...)  
\- buffy plays basketball at an hbcu  
\- kippen sibs!
> 
> OKAY see you all next week! in the meantime i'll be shitposting over here @[kippenmittens](http://kippenmittens.tumblr.com/)


	5. chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> formatting note: italicized passages are flashbacks. enjoy!

Friday came, the warmest day that week, which in December at thirty-three degrees wasn’t saying much. “_Meet up at the park?_” was the last text Cyrus sent TJ. The two agreed to meet there before lunch, as it was equidistant from both of their houses.

Cyrus was waiting there now, four minutes fashionably late, his brain fraught with social dread. TJ was running late, but Cyrus was reaching the point where he wouldn’t mind forgoing the entire thing altogether and just going home.

But as suddenly as he’d thought that, the sound of running footsteps emerged in the distance and drew closer. TJ came from around the corner, slowing to a stop when he saw Cyrus already standing there. “Hi,” he huffed out. Cyrus returned the greeting.

“Sorry I’m late,” he continued, still catching his breath. “Had to make a quick stop at work.”

“It’s alright,” Cyrus reassured him. “I was late, too. Buffy got locked out of her house, so I let her wait at mine.”

TJ nodded. “Still friends with Driscoll? How is she?”

“She’s fine.” Cyrus was jilted for a second. It felt strange, suddenly, how peripherally he and TJ existed around each other, yet how little they knew each other at all. “I know we didn’t really plan,” he went on, ignoring the thought. “Is there anything you want to do?”

TJ thought for a second. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“We could watch a movie.”

TJ shook his head. “I always fall asleep. What about ice skating?”

Cyrus winced. “I don’t mesh well with physical activity.”

The two of them stood there for a few minutes, wracking their brains for things to do. TJ shifted, laughing softly.

“I guess we don’t really know anything about each other, do we? What if we just… talk?”

It would’ve taken a million Cyruses to get that lightbulb to turn on in his head. To even his own surprise, it sounded like a perfect idea. He hummed in agreement.

“Okay. Where?”

They scanned around, looking for some common space they could share––a table, a ledge, a bench, anything––until their eyes landed on one place.

* * *

_“Now, everyone,” the teacher announced, thumbing a stack of papers cradled in her arm, “this is our first take-home packet of the year, due tomorrow.”_

_Cyrus begrudgingly thanked the teacher as she handed him the hefty packets. They were so thick that he was amazed a staple could punch through them. He sighed with disappointment, taking one and passing the rest to the back of his row. There went his plans to hang out with the trio after school––he’d have to go straight home if he wanted to get this done on top of the other assignments he’d already been given._

_“Jeez,” a boorish voice said behind him. “Homework on the first day of school? Seventh grade’s already a load of crap.”_

_Cyrus turned around. A blonde boy he didn’t recognize stared back at him, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie. Cyrus shifted to face him._

_“Well, if this is just the first day, then the rest of the year is going to be a shit storm.”_

_The boy laughed, shaking his head, then flashed Cyrus a soft, friendly grin. The school bell buzzed overhead. Cyrus returned the smile, turning around to file the homework away in his backpack._

_“Yo, TJ,” he heard suddenly from the classroom door. A gaggle of loud and taller boys trickled inside, congregating behind him. Cyrus recognized a couple from his old class, darting his eyes away quickly. His chest tightened. He tossed his things into his backpack and zipped it up hurriedly._

_Another boy piped up, his tone impatient. “Come_ on_. Open gym starts in an hour.”_

_“Will you relax?” a voice replied. It was the blonde boy sitting behind Cyrus. “Let me put this away first.”_

_“Didn’t know TJ cared about school,” another voice called out, followed by a boisterous chorus of laughter._

_Cyrus didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He managed to get away before making eye contact with any of them._

* * *

_“Can you believe we have homework on the first day of school?” Andi groaned, kicking the ground. “My mom is going to be _thrilled.”

_“At least it’s just math,” Buffy said with a shrug. “Maybe we’ll have time to hang out in the Shack later.”_

_“Sorry, guys,” Cyrus sighed. “I gotta stay in. I have this huge English packet to get through.”_

_Andi frowned. “I forgot they put you in the advanced class this year. They gave you that much already?”_

_“And I thought a math worksheet was bad,” Buffy said gravely, but they could all tell she was relieved. “Man! It must suck to be smart.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“Anyway,” Andi piped up. “I gotta go. My mom wants me home early.”_

_They exchanged goodbyes, and Buffy and Cyrus made their way to Cyrus’s father’s house. She stayed with the Goodmans often when her mother was out of town for work._

_“Remember those guys who kept picking on me last year?” Cyrus blurted out suddenly. “I saw them today.” He sighed, mostly out of relief. It had been weighing more heavily on him than he’d thought._

_“No way,” Buffy gasped, a hitch in her voice. “They better not have said anything.”_

_“I got out of there fast enough, I think.”_

_Buffy stopped walking. “I hope they know not to mess with you anymore.”_

_“Yeah,” Cyrus huffed, slightly embarrassed. “I still owe you for that one.”_

* * *

_The same group of boys congregated at the classroom door at the end of the next day, harassing TJ until he was ready to go._

_“Why the hell do you take so long, anyway?” one of them asked._

_“Because I’m not an asshole who packs up before class is even done, maybe?”_

_Finally, one of them noticed Cyrus, a boy from his sixth-grade class––he had somehow grown nearly a foot over the summer vacation––who had tormented Cyrus and a few others relentlessly the year before. Wordlessly, the boy came up to Cyrus’s desk and swept the papers off, sending them onto the floor in a dramatic flourish._

_Cyrus groaned––he knew better than to say anything in response––and fumed silently, listening to the others laugh as he bent down to pick up the mess. He looked back at TJ, hoping maybe, just maybe this guy he’d exchanged even a few kind words with might stick up for him and be his ticket out. But TJ sat there quietly, avoiding eye contact with Cyrus, and even though he was the only one not laughing it still made Cyrus fume even more._

That’s too bad,_ Cyrus couldn’t help but think. TJ was just like the rest of them._

* * *

“A gap year, huh?”

“Yep. Best decision I ever made.” Cyrus sighed and dragged a foot through the woodchips under their feet. “Until I came back, I guess.”

They had decided to sit on the swings, the early winter chill leaving the entire park empty. Still bundled in their jackets, they rocked back and forth lazily as they talked, the suspension beam above them groaning shrilly in the cold. Cyrus huffed, watching his breath condensate in tiny puffs. TJ burrowed his hands deeper into the pockets of his down jacket. They hadn’t elected to speak about high school––not yet, at least––and instead the conversation focused on Cyrus and his unplanned return to Shadyside a month before.

“Why?” TJ asked, his tone far from judgmental; if anything, he was genuinely curious. “Why not just go straight into college?”

_Because of people like you _was Cyrus’s gut response. He shoved it down and didn’t let it leave his mouth. “To see what else is out there,” he said instead. “I didn’t want to go from being stuck in one place to being stuck somewhere else.”

“You never got bored, being on your own?”

“That’s the thing––I never really felt like I _was_ on my own.” TJ gave Cyrus a spooked look; Cyrus couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounded way too creepy. Sorry. I meant––well, I write. So I have characters that really only exist in my head. For now, at least.”

TJ looked at him excitedly. “You’re a writer?”

“I guess so, yeah.” Cyrus couldn’t help leaning into the label, but hesitated before going on. “Started in middle school. I’d write short stories, enter them in contests. They’re the only reason I could afford to travel. Then, I started screenwriting in high school, tried the YouTube thing, didn’t like it.” He paused. “And now I’m here. Haven’t finished anything since.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You were on _YouTube?”_

“Well, not my face. But I wrote for some people. Like…” he paused, straining to remember. “Like _Skits in 40 Seconds_. Obscure shit like that. Nobody knew it was me.”

“No shit. Are you serious? I love that channel.”

Cyrus’s lip twitched upward, and he let himself smile. “Are you lying? You have to be lying.”

_“Cyrus.” _TJ affected an unusual seriousness, disbelieving and breathless. “I literally feel starstruck. That’s fucking cool.”

Normally Cyrus enjoyed being praised for his work, but for some reason hearing it from TJ felt strange. He was suddenly aware of the amount of attention on him and quickly changed the subject. “What about you?” he rebounded. “Is this your gap year too?”

TJ contemplated. “You could call it that,” he said skeptically. “I mostly stayed to help around at home and work, but I have some money saved up in case I change my mind. My sister just started college last year… that shit ain’t cheap, let alone for two kids. Maybe I’d go eventually.” He gently catapulted the swing forward, rocking back and forth in the air. “But I think I’d be okay with it, if I can’t.”

For some reason Cyrus thought of the exchange at his family reunion: _Your parents saved up a lot of money for that, you know._ He felt a pang of guilt––not for not going, but for having the freedom to whenever he pleased. Call him sheltered, but it had only ever half-registered with him that some people, whether they liked it or not, just _couldn’t_ go.

“Come on,” TJ said, jolting Cyrus out of his motionless daze. “You’re on a swing––_swing!”_

Cyrus stammered. “Oh, I––”

TJ skidded to a halt, his planted foot leaving a single trail in the woodchips. He ran behind Cyrus, steadying the chain of his swing with one hand and pressing the small of Cyrus’s back with the other. “Am I really about to do this?” he said, feigning exasperation.

Despite himself, Cyrus’s breath hitched at the sudden contact. “Do _what?”_ he asked with heightened nervousness.

“Just giving you a little push. Step back a little. And _relax,_ for god’s sake.”

“Okay,” Cyrus said hesitantly, doing as told. “And then––_whoa!”_

* * *

_Grant High School was bigger than Jefferson Middle in every way––most of all for Cyrus. Not only were there twice as many buildings and three times as many students, but everyone was just. Tall. And Cyrus was still waiting patiently to catch up._

_“I hate this place already. And I miss Andi,” he said to Buffy, matching her stride as they walked down the hall, their third member notably missing after electing to attend an arts high school on the other side of town. He and Buffy were the same height now, except Buffy had grown over the summer break, catching up to him quickly. Cyrus wouldn’t have been surprised if she one day surpassed him overnight._

_“It’s only the first day,” Buffy assured him. “Give it a chance.”_

_“I wish the universe would give me a chance first,” he muttered fussily, grimacing as the words left his mouth. He hated that mentality, that the universe had owed him in any way, but it was easy to fall into. Especially with his streak of luck, being one of the shortest guys in the entire school just the icing on top of the other offenses._

_Buffy elbowed his side; she hated it just as much as he did._

_“Yeah, yeah. I know.”_

_“What’s your next period?” she asked him._

_“Honors English,” he replied, referencing the schedule he’d kept tucked in his pocket all day. “You?”_

_“Of course it is,” she teased him, and he elbowed her in return. “Ironically, I have Spanish. Also, that actually hurt.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_They rounded the corner, ready to part ways when Cyrus was pushed aggressively, sending Buffy against the wall with him._

_The assailant laughed as they walked past. It was someone Cyrus recognized from Jefferson, flanked behind by two other familiar faces––TJ, of course, being one of them, unsmiling while the other two boys laughed. “Watch out, midget,” called out the same person who’d shoved him._

_Cyrus sighed with exasperation as he helped Buffy balance back up. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”_

_“Hey. Cyrus.” Buffy grabbed him by the shoulders. “Don’t let them get to you.”_

_“But––” he stopped when she tightened her grip._

_“I’m serious, Cyrus. Don’t take their shit.”_

_“I can’t help it.”_

_“You can.” Her gaze was defiant and fiery. “You just need to learn how.”_

* * *

“Betcha can’t swing higher.”

TJ smirked. “Says the one who couldn’t even lift his _feet_ off the ground.”

“Hey, TJ,” Cyrus said, a curious thought popping up in his head. “Let’s play _21 Questions.”_

* * *

_“Say what you want about Grant,” Buffy said, “but I’ll never get over how much more edible the food here is than Jefferson’s.”_

_Cyrus snorted. “It’s been four years, and you’re only now saying that?”_

_It was the beginning of senior year, and Cyrus and Buffy sat across from each other at the same table they’d eaten at since they were freshmen––closest to the door to the stairwell, easiest way to avoid the rush once the bell rang._

_Buffy directed her attention to someone in the distance, motioning for them to come over. It was Jonah and Marty, their closest friends from Jefferson other than Andi, making their way from across the cafeteria. Against his best efforts, Cyrus tensed a little when he noticed._

_“Sorry,” Buffy said suddenly. “I completely forgot to ask about Saturday––did you ever talk to Jonah about––_”__

_“About my feelings?” Cyrus finished. “No. But I did tell him I’m gay, yeah.”_

_Buffy deflated with relief. “Okay. Did he say anything?”_

_Cyrus leaned in. “You won’t believe this, but all he said was ‘Cool.’”_

_Buffy snorted. “I completely believe that.”_

_“Anyway, I gotta go. I have a group project for AP Lit that everyone wants to work on during our only break of the day. Can you believe that? Freakin’ masochists.”_

_“Just don’t go,” Buffy suggested jokingly; Cyrus shot her a look. “Jeez, takes one to know one, huh?”_

_“Shut up.” He stood up, unable to help noticing Buffy ogling at him. “What?”_

_“Sorry. I’m just not over how… _tall_ you got.”_

_Cyrus smirked a little. His long-awaited growth spurt had finally come the summer before senior year, launching him up just past the heights of all of his friends. “Sorry, honey,” he teased. “I’m not interested.”_

_Buffy served him a swift kick to the shin from under the table, causing him to barrel over, cursing. “You’re too tall, anyway,” she confessed, diverting her sight to the two boys approaching them. “I’ll take my average-height guy over a tall one any day.”_

_“Hello to you too,” Marty scoffed at her, plopping his tray on the table. “On your way out, Cyrus?”_

_“Yeah,” Cyrus replied. He exchanged greetings with them and then he was off, listening to the banter among his friends until he was up the stairs, well out of earshot._

* * *

_“Cyrus, before I forget. Could I put you in charge of something?”_

_Cyrus turned around. The AP Lit teacher stood at her desk, motioning for him to walk over. It was nearing the end of lunch period, and he and his classmates had just finished doling out tasks for their group paper. “Sure,” he said. “What is it?”_

_“Your groupmate, TJ,” she said. “He’s been absent for the last two weeks.” Cyrus nodded; even he had noticed that TJ had shown up for the first week of school, then inexplicably disappeared. “I thought he’d dropped the class, but his mother called requesting the work that he missed. Are you able to take it to him?”_

_Cyrus’s stomach was in knots. Though he’d seen TJ around, he hadn’t really spoken to him at all, not since the first day of seventh grade. Even during the first week of AP Lit when they’d been placed in the same group, they didn’t say a word to each other. Cyrus still hung on to that first encounter followed by the next, then all the years of torment that followed._

_“I’d be happy to,” he lied._

_“Great!” The teacher smiled; Cyrus resented her for a brief moment, how clueless she was. “I’ll have everything ready by last period, if you don’t mind sticking around after class.”_

_He quirked a corner of his mouth. “Sure. I don’t mind.”_

* * *

“Something everyone loves that you think is overhyped?”

“Pizza.”

Cyrus gasped. “Fuck off.”

“There are infinite other Italian foods that are _way_ better than pizza.” TJ prepared himself to list them off, but Cyrus put up a hand.

“Shut up. You’re not allowed to explain your answer.”

TJ scoffed. “Fine. Okay. Let’s see… First animated character you had a crush on? They don’t have to be human.”

“Why are you already assuming they aren’t going to be human?” Cyrus burst out, cracking up.

“God _dammit_ Cyrus, just answer the question.”

Cyrus quieted and closed his eyes. “Okay. Okay, you remember _Lion King,_ right?”

TJ stifled a laugh. “So they _aren’t_ human.”

“Okay, in _my_ defense––”

“Nope. You aren’t allowed to explain your answer.”

* * *

_“Well, first thing’s first, you have excellent stats.” The college counselor flipped through the pages of Cyrus’s high school transcript. “I’d say you have a good shot if you apply to a few Ivy Leagues.”_

_Cyrus fidgeted, unsure of what to say. Should he say anything? He could just as easily lie; he’d submitted a list of prospective schools at his counselor’s request already, so she’d never have to know. Besides, he didn’t feel like broaching the topic with her. The idea of taking a year off had been heavy on his mind for a long time, but he didn’t quite know how to articulate _why.

_“Have you taken a look at the common app yet?” she asked, jolting him out of his thoughts._

__“_I’ve glanced over it,” he lied._

_“That’s good.” She sounded surprisingly encouraging. “It won’t be due for a while. But be sure to focus on your personal statement.”_

_When the meeting was over she walked Cyrus out to the hall. Their appointment was late after school, so the hallways and stairwells that were usually packed with students had emptied out. He walked slowly, basking in the late afternoon light filtering through the second-floor windows and enjoying the stillness of the old building; nothing moved but Cyrus and the dust dancing in the dying sunlight. He mentally prepared himself for where he was going next. The packet of TJ’s makeup work felt like the weight of bricks in his backpack._

_As he entered the stairwell he heard footsteps coming up. He had a fleeting curiosity about who it was. At this hour, the only people left were teachers, maybe a few students doing detention, meeting with clubs, staying after class for tutoring._

_It was TJ._

_Cyrus stood stock-still; TJ, visibly surprised to see him. The tension in the air was enough to convince Cyrus that the awkward distaste he’d shared for TJ was not one-sided._

_It was Cyrus who broke their years-long silent war. “TJ? What are you doing here?” he asked. The words were stale out of his mouth, like he had no reason to ask; any opportunity of friendship between them had been long dead and gone._

_“I’m meeting with the college counselor.”_

_He looked weary; Cyrus didn’t bring it up. “I have your AP Lit homework. Rodriguez asked me to bring it to your house.”_

_He pulled the packet out of his backpack and held it out. TJ grabbed it, his eyes flitting to Cyrus’s briefly. Cyrus averted his gaze, almost defensively._

_There was something there, in TJ’s eyes. It wasn’t anger, nor was it the usual menace Cyrus had seen him use on others. It couldn’t be placed as sadness, either. Not really._

_He looked, for lack of a better word, lost._

_“Thank you,” TJ said, then walked away. This time, Cyrus’s eyes followed._

* * *

“I wish we could’ve been friends,” TJ said suddenly. “When we were in school.”

Cyrus stilled. Their frenzied, rousing laughter and conversation had died down to a comfortable silence before TJ spoke up. It was as objective as a statement like that could be, devoid of any malice or regret behind it, and Cyrus looked over, hoping to place some kind of emotion that the other boy was feeling. TJ only stared straight ahead; if he was thinking about anything at all, his eyes didn’t tell. For a moment Cyrus wondered if TJ was conjuring images of a schoolboy friendship that hadn’t existed, younger versions of themselves playing out on an imaginary screen in front of him in the woodchips.

He wanted to be angry with TJ. He already had been for a good seven years now, from the moment he turned around while kneeling down on the linoleum tile of their English classroom and tried desperately to meet TJ’s avoidant eyes. But he had accepted a lot of things about himself since that day, confronted more flaws than he was comfortable to admit. Couldn’t TJ have done the same? If his interactions with Cyrus today––and every other day they’d seen each other since Cyrus returned to Shadyside––were worth anything, then yes. Yes. Of course he could.

Realizing this, Cyrus’s demeanor softened.

“Well,” he said, “I’m here now.”

TJ turned to look at Cyrus then, green eyes locked on him with an intense, unreadable gaze. Cyrus wondered what he was thinking––if he was going to apologize, or more, thank him. Strangely, after all of these years of internalized grudges, Cyrus didn’t want either of those things. He wanted, all of a sudden and more than anything, for everything that had actually happened to cease to exist. And he found himself wishing for the exact same thing TJ had wanted––for them to have been friends in school, too.

He wondered what kind of good it would’ve done him.

To Cyrus’s relief, TJ didn’t do either of those things. Instead, his eyes flitted to the sky, then back to Cyrus.

“You really think you could go higher than me?” he asked Cyrus, arching an eyebrow and flashing a mischievous smile.

* * *

Cyrus returned home early that evening, the last of the day’s sunlight already gone to the winter night. He shed his heavy coat at the door and peeled back the fingers of his wool gloves, his joints still stiff from spending all day in the cold. The sound of fire crackling in the next room caught his attention.

Leslie sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace, silhouetted by the bright flames. Next to her was a stack of books, all wide-set and thick, nearly three feet high.

“What are you reading, Mom?” Cyrus asked, coming up behind her. The warmth of the fire seeped down to his bones.

“Not books,” she said, smiling. “Photo albums.”

She nodded to the stack, and Cyrus took one. The spine cracked as he turned the cover open to reveal a table of contents. _Cyrus’s first birthday. Cyrus at the park with Bubbe. Cyrus’s first day of preschool._

_“My_ photo albums?”

Leslie patted the carpet next to her, inviting Cyrus to sit down. “Your dad has the other half,” she said as he knelt down beside her. “You know, I would bring these out whenever I missed you. While you were gone.”

Cyrus furrowed his brow. “But I’m here now.” He felt like he was saying that a lot today.

“I know.” Leslie smiled, but there was a cautiousness behind it. Her fingers picked idly at the fraying edge of a photo of her and Norman, still married, his arm slung around her as she cradled a giggling baby Cyrus in her lap. “Cyrus, are you happy?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “Mom, where’s this coming from?”

“I’m just curious! Truthfully. Are you happy?”

She asked it like a statement, like she was demanding his honesty. Although she didn’t say it, Cyrus could see it––the genuine concern, tangled with the distant helplessness, of a mother. He saw it when he’d brought up the bullying the first time. Maybe even at the hospital, when she’d apologized for giving him a hard time for leaving. He might have even seen it last spring, when he’d first revealed he was planning to go. And he could see it now. She had gone all these years without knowing. Now, she wanted to know.

And though he didn’t say it, he wondered if _she_ could see it––the joy he derived from the people he loved, the sureness he had in the path he was pursuing, and now, thinking back on the day he’d just had, the euphoria of finding a connection in someone he thought could never reach him. Of finding a connection in TJ.

“Yeah, Mom.” He smiled, hoping she knew he was being genuine. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, it's a long one! hope ya liked it
> 
> stalk me here @[kippenmittens](http://kippenmittens.tumblr.com)


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